


Prom Night! Well, Sort Of

by IDontUnderstandThatReference



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (author is trans), M/M, Mpreg, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Teen Pregnancy, The Losers are all mentioned, but I don't think they have big enough parts to warrant being tagged?, excessive cursing probably, hence the underage tag, implied bottom!eddie and top!richie, is this a no Pennywise AU? if you want it to be, pregnancy is vague enough that you can imagine eddie as trans if you want to, the kids are all 17/18 in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDontUnderstandThatReference/pseuds/IDontUnderstandThatReference
Summary: After getting his boyfriend pregnant at the end of the summer going into their senior year, both Richie and Eddie are banned from attending their senior prom. Which is fine, really, not a huge deal! It's just another shitty school function, and Eddie always hated those, so it's fine, right? Eddie probably wasn't going to want to go to prom, anyways, pregnant or not.And yet here Richie is, scrambling to get everything ready and recruiting the help of the rest of the Losers to do so, so he can give Eddie the prom he didn't even know he wanted.It's the least he can do! After all, it's technically Richie's fault that Eddie got banned to begin with.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99





	Prom Night! Well, Sort Of

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting any stories in like four years, so excuse me for being rusty. 
> 
> I needed more wholesome reddie mpreg in my life, okay? And this was a gift for a friend anyways, so I figured, why not post it? Plus who knows, maybe posting this will get me to start writing all the other reddie ideas I have, and get around to publishing those, too. And if anyone bothering to read this is mildly interested in seeing similar stuff, that might help, too.
> 
> as stated in the tags, this is marked underage because the kids are all still in high school, but I think based off of their confirmed birthdays, at least eddie is already 18? either way, better safe than sorry!
> 
> also in the tags is the mention that you can picture eddie as trans, if you don't like the idea of "regular" mpreg. Nothing is overly described, so the pregnancy itself is vague and, as far as I'm concerned, not mentioned too terribly much? Like, it isn't the focus of the story, I guess is what I mean? I could be wrong though. Also, because I am not in the mood to get yelled at, I am a trans man myself, and that's why I mention that the pregnancy is vague enough to imagine eddie as trans. I am aware that, realistically, if a teenager got pregnant in the early/mid 90's and they were openly identifying as a male, then they would face far more hardships than just being banned from prom. When I wrote this story, it was with the idea of mpreg being relatively common in mind, but being gay still being unaccepted, along with the taboo of teen pregnancy. So, just so we're clear with where my mind was when I was writing this.
> 
> the point of the story is just to be a sweet little thing, nothing too dramatic or anything, just a reprieve for the boys from all the drama that is currently their lives.
> 
> so thanks for clicking and giving it a shot, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> (if you see something that you think should be tagged, drop a comment and I'll throw it up on the tags list)

For the nth time, Stan slaps Richie’s hand away from where he’s fixing the other teen’s bowtie. “Richie, stop fucking moving, I’m not fixing this for you again if you mess it up.” Richie throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I don’t get why you’re so--”

“--crazy if you think I’m gonna go down that deathtrap of a ladder!”

“Eddie, come on, dude, you’ve been going up and down it for years now, what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal? I wasn’t _8 months pregnant_ all those other times!”

Hearing Eddie and the others already at the entrance of the clubhouse so suddenly makes Richie break out into a nervous sweat. Stan, being the nosy little bitch he is, notices immediately. He smirks at Richie, adjusting the bowtie and tugging on his collar.

“Nervous?”

Richie sputters, indignant.

“No! Fuck you, man, I’m not nervous!” Stan hums and nods, giving a non-committal "uh huh, sure" while walking away to fiddle with some of the final details of the clubhouse while Richie glares after him.

“Don’t know what you have to be so nervous about anyways, Tozier; this clearly isn’t your first date, all things considered,” Stan makes a gesture to his stomach and Richie throws the first thing he can get his hands on - a left out comic book - straight at Stan, who dodges out of the way, laughing into his hand. He doesn't have to move much before he's back in Richie's space, going behind the other teen’s back and giving him a shove towards the entrance of the clubhouse. Richie stumbles a bit, but walks until he gets to the base of the short ladder. He overhears the end of a conversation.

“You’ve never been pregnant, Mike, but having an extra 25 pounds collected into a ball and attached to your stomach really throws off your equilibrium! Plus, I haven’t been able to see my feet for like, two fucking months! What happens if I go down that ladder and I miss a step and fall? I could break something, I could hurt the baby, I could go into early labor!”

“Eds, I don’t think you’re gonna fall down a four wrung ladder,” Richie calls up from inside the clubhouse. He must startle his boyfriend, because Eddie jumps, sways, and nearly does fall down the hole. Thank god for Ben and Bev, who each grab an arm and steady the heavily pregnant teen. When Eddie feels stable on his feet he swings around and stares down the hole to find his sheepishly smiling boyfriend. “Richie, Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack, you dick,” he kicks at the ground, sending a plume of dirt down, making Richie cough and swat at the air. When he’s finished with his coughing fit, he sends a bright grin back up at his still-scowling boyfriend.

From this angel Richie can mostly see Eddie’s large stomach, but he can also see the way the smaller teen has his hands on his hips, and he can see his head poking out from above his baby bump, his scowl looking more like a pout.

Richie laughs and reaches his arms up, making grabby motions with his hands. “Alright drama queen, I’ll help you down.” Above him, Eddie doesn’t move. He wiggles his fingers again and says “Come on, Eds. You wanna see my surprise, right?” And that’s what gets Eddie to huff out a breath and accept the offer of being helped down into the clubhouse.

“What shitty surprise could you possibly have--”

“Wait wait wait, close your eyes!”

“You have to be kidding me--”

“Oh come on, Eds, just close ‘em for me,” Richie leans down and whispers into Eddie’s ear, “I’ll do that thing you really like later. You know, the thing with my tongue and your--” Eddie pushes Richie’s face away with his hand, his face bright red and his eyes closed. Even with his cheek squished against his boyfriend’s palm, Richie still laughs.

“Fine, fine, they’re closed, now shut the fuck up, asshole!” Richie takes that as a win. He grabs Eddie by the shoulders and turns him around so that he’s facing the center of the club house. Leaning over his shoulder, Richie says “Eyes still closed, Spaghedward?” They are, indeed, still closed, and Richie didn’t need to ask to make sure, but what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t test Eddie’s patience at every turn? Certainly not one to earn a nickname like Trashmouth, and he has a reputation to uphold.

“Of course they are, you fucking--” Richie pushes Eddie forward, his grip on his shoulders tight to keep Eddie from overbalancing. The smaller teen lets out a yelp that cuts himself off, and once Richie has him right where he wants him, he lets go of his shoulders. He pulls up a turned over apple crate and helps Eddie sit down on it, before quickly shooing a yet-to-be-seen Stanley up and out of the clubhouse. While at the base of the ladder, he whispers up to his friends “thanks for everything, you guys! I’ll give you the dirty details later,” he winks and Stan makes fake gagging noises (or maybe they aren’t fake. Who knows with Stan).

“Yeah, I uh, think we’re good, Rich. Thanks,” Mike says, smiling down from the top of the clubhouse entrance.

“Some things aren’t meant to be shared, Richie,” Bev says, hands on her hips.

“What, you mean like the time Eddie and I went on the ferris wheel and--” Ben interrupts with a “please don’t tell us how you defiled a ferris wheel, it will ruin carnivals for me forever.”

“The clowns should already ruin carnivals for you, dude. Not the fact that Eddie and I fucked on a ferris wheel.” “Beep beep, Richie.” Bev says at the same time as Bill’s “J-Jesus, Rich.” Richie waves his hand at his friends as though he’s fanning away smoke.

“Okay, okay, but seriously, thanks. I owe you guys--”

“Richie if you just fucking left me down here I’m gonna cut your goddamn _dick off_!” Upon hearing that, Richie tugs on his bowtie like a cartoon character and gulps loud enough for the other Losers to hear him. He ignores Stan’s “good for him” comment in favor of jerking his thumb back in the direction of where he left his angry boyfriend.

“Better head back before the Misses has an aneurism. Thanks again, guys. I owe you!” He walks back into the clubhouse, the calls of luck from his friends (aside from Stan, who yells out something about not fucking up, because Stanley is a heathen and bad friend) fading as they walk away from the clubhouse, leaving Richie and Eddie to themselves.

When Richie walks back into the clubhouse, he’s surprised to find that Eddie has kept his eyes closed.

“Awww, Eddie! You kept your eyes closed this whole time, for little ol’ me?” Even though his eyes are closed, Richie still clasps his hands together and holds them up against his face, fluttering his eyelashes and swaying back and forth on his feet.

“Shut the hell up, dickbag!”

“I’m so lucky to have you, my Eddie Spaghetti!” Eddie flushes bright red at Richie’s words and turns his head to the side in an attempt to hide his hot cheeks.

“Shut up, asshole…” he says into his shoulder. Richie holds back the comment of “Make me,” and finds himself saying nothing as he steps forward, closer to his boyfriend. The lack of response coupled with the sound of footsteps coming closer makes Eddie squirm in his seat. A nervous habit he’s gotten into since he started showing was placing one or both of his hands on the bottom curve of his stomach and drumming his fingers against the skin. He does this now, with both his hands, and his eyes still closed. Richie goes to stand behind Eddie and places his hands back on his boyfriend’s shoulders. Leaning down until his lips brush against the shell of Eddie’s ear, Richie whispers “You can open your eyes now, Eddie.”

Richie has shifted and has his chin resting on Eddie’s shoulder, so he has no idea when Eddie actually opens his eyes, but a few moments after he told the other teen that he could, there’s a small gasp.

“Chee…”

“Hm?”

“What is all of this?” Eddie turns around in his seat, forcing Richie to move. He adjusts himself so he’s knelt on the ground behind Eddie and his apple crate, and Richie is very much aware of how he looks; dressed up in a well fitting suit, framed by soft, purple lighting, one knee pressed up against his chest while the other gathers dirt on the floor. He is absolutely hyper-aware of how he must look right now, but all he can concentrate on is Eddie’s flushed cheeks in the low light, and the tears gathering in his eyes, making them sparkle more than - he swears to God - they normally do.

They stare into each others eyes for a few moments before Richie reaches up and awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck.

“Well I figured, since you missed Prom, on account of me knocking you up, why not have our own private Prom down here?” Eddie’s brows furrow and the tears build further until a few begin to fall, and Richie _panics_.

“Oh my god, you hate it. Of course you do, you never liked any of the other shitty dances they had at school, why would this be any different? Oh Christ, oh shit, I’m such a shitty fucking boyfriend oh my _god_ \--” He’s rambling and tripping over his words and when he goes to stand up, two hands on his face stop him. Eddie is laughing - _laughing_ , the little bastard! - at his boyfriend’s expense while a few more tears run down his face. On instinct, Richie reaches up and wipes them away, thinking ‘he’s so beautiful’ as he does. Eddie leans into the touch and so Richie leaves a hand there, cradling his boyfriend’s face while Eddie does the same.

“You’re a fucking dumbass, Trashmouth,” Eddie says, his voice thick with tears.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know--” Eddie cuts him off with a firm kiss and an eye roll, not in that order. Eddie’s glare is fond but exasperated when he pulls away and Richie can feel his heart swell the longer he looks at his boyfriend. His big doe eyes soften as he searches Richie’s face, and when they lock back onto Richie’s coke-bottle framed pair, he gives a small, gentle smile. His hands still framing the other teen’s face, he brushes his thumbs along the corners of Richie’s eyes, nudging his glasses but not enough to distort his vision.

“I love it.”

Richie opens his mouth to respond, likely with something to dissipate the seriousness of the conversation like “Not as much as I love being inside your mom” or some other bullshit line, but Eddie cuts him off.

“I love you.”

It isn’t the first time it’s been said between the two of them, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it manages to take Richie’s breath away every time he hears it, anyways. It takes him a few moments to respond, it always does. Eddie knows this. Not because it’s hard to say back, or he finds himself hesitating, but because his brain short circuits so severely that he needs a few seconds before he’s fully functioning again.

“I love you, too,” and when he says it, it’s all breathy, like he just ran across town and into Eddie’s arms just to say he loves him, and it feels like that too, sometimes, because his legs feel like jelly and his heart is pounding so hard he feels like it might pop out of his chest so that it, too, can confess it’s undying love to Eddie Kaspbrack.

And because he can never let serious moments be serious moments, Richie grins and smiles down at Eddie’s stomach and says “And our little bastard, of course. Can’t forget him, Eds.” Eddie’s smile disappears and he rolls his eyes again, groaning a bit at what Richie said. With both of his hands still on Richie’s face, he squishes the other boy’s cheeks together and says “Stop calling our baby a bastard, you ass.” With his face being squished, Richie makes faces at his boyfriend until Eddie snorts and relinquishes his hold.

“Don’t get what you’re so upset about, babe. He is technically a bastard child.” Eddie scoffs and reaches his hands out. Richie grins while he helps his boyfriend stand.

“It’s bad enough the assholes in this godforsaken town are calling our kid shitty names, I don’t wanna hear it coming from you, too.” Richie frowns at this. He knows that the people in Derry are dicks, and that they’ve been talking all over town about how Eddie is a whore and his baby is a mistake that should never have been made, an abomination, but he had hoped that Mrs. Kaspbrack, in all her overbearing wisdom, had managed to keep too much of the gossip from reaching Eddie’s ears. Turns out he was wrong.

“Hey,” Richie grabs Eddie’s face in his hands and holds him until they lock eyes. “Our kid might be a bastard,” Eddie tries to shake himself out of Richie’s hold when he says that, but he holds fast because he has a point, dammit! “He might be a bastard; but he will be the most loved kid out there. He isn’t even born yet and he already is, right?” He gives his boyfriend a lopsided smile. Eddie gives a small, reluctant one back in return.

“Yeah, he is.”

Richie grins.

“So who cares if we had him out of wedlock and through the process of the dreaded and horrifying ‘gay sex’?” Eddie huffs out a laugh when Richie says this, but still pushes at the taller teen’s shoulders.

“You gonna show me all the shit you have set up, or are you just going to keep running that trashmouth of yours?” Both teens are smiling, Eddie looking up at Richie with a knowing smirk, and Richie looking back down at Eddie as though he hung the moon and stars.

Not long after, Richie snaps out of it and begins to give a basic run down of what he has set up. He gestures to one of the far off corners of the clubhouse.

“What kind of Prom would this be if I didn’t have refreshments laid out?” He walks over to the small table. “I’ve got punch - just the normal stuff, nothing spiked, no worries there, Mama Bear--”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

“Aw, but it rhymed! Didn’t you hear it?” Eddie glares at Richie, his arms crossed over his chest. Richie chuckles. “Okay, alright, not winning any poetry awards anytime soon, then. Anyways!” He claps his hands and makes a grand gesture to the rest of the room.

“Bev, the angel she is, managed to get her hands on some of these like, lilac purple fairy lights,” he reaches up and flicks one of the small bulbs that’s hanging low enough to do so with relatively little effort. He walks a small circle around the open space in the center of the clubhouse. “We cleaned up a little, too. Obviously.” He turns back to face Eddie and grins while holding a hand out. “Gotta have room to dance, after all.”

Eddie huffs out a little laugh and uncrosses one arm to take his boyfriend’s outstretched hand. “Gotta have music to dance, too, Rich,” he says, his eyebrows raised in that _‘no duh, dumbass’_ kind of way that always makes Richie’s knees weak.

“You think I would plan an entire private prom night and _not_ provide rockin’ tunes?” Eddie makes a vague gesture with his hand not trapped within Richie’s and shrugs one shoulder. Richie gapes at his boyfriend and clutches at his chest with his free hand. “You wound me, Spaghetti Man!” Eddie, ever the more mature of the two, sticks his tongue out at Richie in lieu of telling him not to call him that awful nickname.

“Besides, you’re wrong! I did come prepared with music, courtesy of one Bill Denbrough and his parents' swanky, yet to be missed, record player!” He gestures to another dark corner of the room where a tarp is sitting, clearly covering something underneath. He takes a few steps forward and yanks the tarp off, unwilling to let go of Eddie’s hand the entire time. Underneath the plastic cover is a clean, practically new record player, all ready to go. Richie gives Eddie a smile that just screams “nah nah nah, you were wrong!” and flips a few switches before touching the needle gently against the record. The music starts up, but it’s a bit too low for a few moments. While the song starts up, Richie steps closer to his boyfriend and takes his other hand. He’s smiling down at the shorter teen, and pulls him flush against his chest (or, as close to flush as he can get, what with their "little abomination" still between them). As soon as Richie has them in prime prom dancing position, that’s when Eddie finally recognizes the song that’s playing, and that’s when Richie begins to sing along softly, swaying them both back and forth as he does.

“Eddie, my love,” he sings, low enough that Eddie can still hear _The Chordettes_ playing from the record player. They lock eyes, and Richie’s gaze is soft and wet as he sings.

“I love you so,” Eddie is so overwhelmed that he can’t find it in himself to continue staring at his boyfriend, and so he presses his forehead into Richie’s chest. Like this, he can feel the rumbling of Richie’s voice as he sings.

Eddie shakes his head and picks his gaze back up to lock with Richie’s.

“You’re so fucking cheesy, Richie.”

The other teen smiles, and Eddie’s heart swoons. “You love it.”

Swaying here together in the soft purple light of the clubhouse, Richie’s words feel weightier than what they said. As though there’s some kind of hidden meaning there that not even Richie himself knows. It’s strange, but not in a bad way. More in an inevitable way, a way that means forever. And Eddie can’t find it in himself to say anything other than; “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> again, if you think a tag needs to be added, just let me know!


End file.
